


They Like Dark Chocolate

by emlohamora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chocolate, Dark Chocolate Supremacy, F/M, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Mutual Pining, Ron Weasley Bashing, Valentine's Day, dad!Draco, mom!Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlohamora/pseuds/emlohamora
Summary: Valentine’s Day used to be asinine, Draco told himself.  It was a Muggle holiday that served no purpose other than spending money. When he was younger,  it was always his least favourite. Christmas was his favourite holiday then; his parents would bury him in a pile of presents just for him and he would be the centre of attention.But Valentine’s Day? No. That was a holiday for saps who were intent on getting into someone’s pants, if he could even call it a holiday. His parents would celebrate it with a nice dinner that he was not invited to or some lavish party with their acquaintances that he was also not invited to.That was, until Valentine's Day became his favourite holiday.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101





	They Like Dark Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hvrmalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvrmalfoy/gifts).



Valentine’s Day used to be asinine, Draco told himself. It was a Muggle holiday that served no purpose other than spending money. When he was younger, it was always his least favourite. Christmas was his favourite holiday then; his parents would bury him in a pile of presents just for him and he would be the centre of attention.

But Valentine’s Day? No. That was a holiday for saps who were intent on getting into someone’s pants, that was, if he could even call it a holiday. His parents would celebrate it with a nice dinner that he was not invited to or some lavish party with their acquaintances that he was also not invited to. It was never anything worth paying attention to or caring about.

During eighth year, most assuredly due to the fact that they all almost died not nine months earlier, Valentine’s Day was quite the event at Hogwarts. Giant fucking stuffed bears, roses everywhere, boxes of chocolate left around all over and munched upon in halls and classrooms. Everywhere he turned, he couldn’t catch a break.

It was even worse when he returned to his dormitory. Of course, he just had to have been made Head Boy to fucking Granger’s Head Girl. And of fucking course former Head of Gryffindor House turned Headmaster had to make it so that Weasel fucking Bee was allowed into the school so the pair of lion-headed lovers could spend the holiday together. Because that’s how favouritism works. 

She was a nightmare. Even worse than the girls in the Slytherin Common Room, where he spent most of his time outside of sleeping in the Head’s dormitory. Except, when he returned on the night of the fifteenth of February, he took a good look at the box of open and unfinished chocolates and the various other sweets on their coffee table. 

The chocolates were half white and half milk, a separate box of liquorice next to them, completely untouched. And what were those? Muggle gummies? The sod. The gummies weren’t even shaped like Cornish Pixies, those versions having been sold at Honeydukes. That was why he knew they weren’t magical. 

He knew Weaslebee was a poor piece of shite, but getting his witch a box of chocolates that were half white? White chocolate was the worst invention known to mankind. Draco knew that; he wasn’t an uncultured swine. He might not have had a witch of his own then ‒ nobody tended to fancy the youngest Death Eater in history after the war ‒ but he still knew damn well that witches deserved dark chocolate truffles for Valentine’s Day. They were his favourite sweet too, little did anyone know.

He almost felt bad for her then. It was very obvious that she didn’t like the sweets, seeing as more than half of them were sitting idle on the table. If a bloke was going to go to the trouble of having a witch to call his own, he might as well have actually treated her right. Especially if that bloke was Weaslebee, seeing as Granger would have been the one to have to lower her standards in order for them to be together. 

He wasn’t as much of an arse the next day.

He also wasn’t as much of an arse 3 years later when they were forced to work together on a case at the Ministry. Then, she worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, specializing in the Office for House Elf Relocation. Except she had gone and changed the entire subdepartment so that it didn’t just handle relocation, but all aspects of elven life. Draco, as a Curse Breaker for the Ministry, had seen her name pop across a handful of pieces of paperwork in the time she had taken to completely reinvent her job, but they were never forced to interact. 

The case that brought them together regarded an old estate in which there were elves still tied to the inlaid magic of the estate. Draco was being sent to the scene to break the wards and other protections so that the DMLE could gain access to the slew of artefacts being stored in the lower levels of the family home. The elves were his problem. He couldn’t break the curses without injuring the elves or possibly stripping them of their magic. That was where Granger came in.

He had arrived in the conference room where they were assigned to come up with their plan half an hour early, wanting to take the time to set up his notes and provide a few preliminary drawings so that she would know what she was working with. She was Hermione Granger, after all, the woman who had single-handedly reworked the entirety of not just the Office for House Elf Relocation but the entire Beast Division. He had to step up his game when he was working in the big leagues. 

A smaller part of himself also wanted the time to be able to prepare for working with her, seeing as they hadn’t interacted since the end of eighth year when they were forced to take that God-awful picture for what McGonagall penned as “longevity’s sake.” He had been a right foul git to her the entire year, always making her Head duties harder than what they were supposed to be due to his incessant fooling around, even though he had been determined at the start of the school year to be a better man, to apologize to her repeatedly for everything that had happened that had been his fault. The thing was that Draco hadn’t done that; he started off great, but then as soon as her swotty attitude reared its ugly head he couldn’t help going right back to the pattern he had come to appreciate in the years they had known each other. He was determined to do it right that time.

Except, when Draco walked into the conference room, she was already there. Who did she think she was, showing up to his conference room on his floor before he did? How dare she ruin his plans for his morning and his work? The whole case was going to go to hell because she had taken the damn conference room from ‒

“Malfoy,” she said stiffly, barely looking up from her papers as she reached for a paper cup that Draco could only assume was filled with coffee. 

He decided ‒ a very tough decision ‒ to be less of an arse. 

He tipped his head cordially, readjusting the file of papers in his arm as he regarded her. “Granger.”

That was when she looked at him, her hands coming to cross over her chest as she stood up straight, watching him with wide eyes. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t know much about curse breaking. I thought it would be better to let you know up front considering‒”

“That I am a curse breaker and we are indeed here to collaborate on how to best break curses?” he finished with a smirk, teasing only gently. It was a big deal. Granger was admitting to not knowing something. He wondered if maybe her time at the Ministry had humbled her. “Don’t worry too much, Granger. I know nothing about elves except that I was always taught not to give them any piece of clothing, so we both have our successes.”

See? Not as much of an arse. 

She still seemed wary though, tightening her arms even more so, eyeing him suspiciously, the same way that she used to when he was sneaking around Hogwarts back in the days when he held some sort of power and she caught him while out on rounds. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” she asked, her tone clipped and lips tight to her teeth. He stared at her for a moment, confusion ablaze, until she uncrossed her arms to motion between the two of them. “I mean us? We’re not going to be a problem? Our history isn’t going to impact our ability to work on this project.”

He didn’t know how to respond at first. His whole plan to go down to the conference room and prepare himself to not be as much of an arse had backfired, but that didn’t mean that he was destined to be a git. Right? 

That failed to take into account, however, that he had watched her writhe on his drawing room floor and subsequently fought against her in the war. That was a whole separate category of offences that didn’t include being an arse. No, those were way worse than being an arse.

Draco decided to shift his papers awkwardly as he glanced down at the floor. He needed her help. If they both decided to be reluctant in working with the other, it would mean that the case would never get solved. Working together ‒ working together well ‒ was the only option.

He started talking as he inspected his shoes. “I don’t think I’ve given you any reason since the start of eighth year to suspect that we would not be able to work together professionally. Believe it or not, I enjoy my job.”

She studied him for a moment longer, almost unsure of whether or not to accept his answer or berate him for acting cheeky. But before she could get a word out, he continued, not quite finished with his thought and realizing the perfect thing to hopefully subside her qualms so that they would be able to move on and start their work. 

“I’m a bastard, Granger. I tease. It’s just who I am. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“So you’re not going to call me a mudblood again?” she retorted, a question he hadn’t quite expected featuring a word he hadn’t heard in years, not since the end of his trials after the war.

He shuddered at the word, it having had thrown him almost completely off balance. At the time, he wasn’t sure why, but he met her eyes at the cessation of her words. Her hazels burned into him with a fire that he hadn’t witnessed up close like that since her fist made contact with his cheek back during third year. It was a test. It had to have been a test.

“I don’t consider that word part of my vocabulary any more,” he contested, his eyes burning back into hers with a cool flame against her burning, attempting to convince her in as adamant and secure a way as possible that he really wasn’t an arse anymore. 

Her flames didn’t yield to his, her resolve only strengthening under his gaze. That was, until it broke, her fire retreating and fizzling out for a reason that Draco could not understand. Her eyes flitted down to the file folders in his hands before finding his fire again, dampening now without hers to challenge. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Working with Granger was no easy task. Draco even began to inaudibly applaud Potter and Weaselbee for putting up with her in his head. She was a nightmare, just like back in eighth year. Her papers were always strewn around the room, her little paper coffee cups were always left on the table when she would inevitably return to her desk before the day ended, and she used these muggle “pens” to do her work, but the caps would be left everywhere for him to pick up. 

They barely talked at first. Draco worked on his countercurse preparation while also hypothesizing what curses would be held in which areas of the home, Granger attempting to construct a counterspell to sever the ties between the elves’ magic and the inlay of the estate. 

But about a month in, they were on the precipice of something big, finally getting close to perfecting the countercurse to disconnect the elves’ magic from the estate, something changed.

Draco reached for an interdepartmental memo and began to scratch on it while Granger scrawled over the whiteboard that she insisted be brought into the room for her to be able to draw on, recognizing that she was nowhere near stopping for the night.

“What would you like from Fortescue’s?” he asked, turning to watch her as she drew a specific rune on the shiny white surface. 

She dropped the marker she was using, the room echoing with its clacking as she froze. 

“Granger?”

Nothing. No movement, no words, no nothing. 

“Did you figure it out?”

She shook her head, the movement visible from where Draco stood leaned over the table behind her, but action too small for anyone else to notice if they weren’t specifically paying attention. He thought that she had gone frozen again, but then she moved, crouching down and picking up her marker, placing the cap back on before turning back around to face him. 

Her eyes were wide, almost fearful, her fire completely put out as she looked at him. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you figured it out‒”

“Before that.”

He eyed her almost as suspiciously as she had him the first time that they interacted in the conference room. “I asked what you would like from Fortescue’s?”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated incredulously, shaking his head slightly at her blasphemous reaction. “Because you’re still working and technically we clocked out an hour ago? I’m not letting you take all the credit for cracking this, but I’m hungry. I thought I would be nice and offer to order some for you.”

She was frozen again but her eyes were moving between his, the stark lack of fire receding as the coals began to glow. “Oh. Alright.”

He waited a moment, his eyebrows rising on his forehead, almost meeting his hairline as he waited for her to supply him with the information that he had now asked for minutes ago. When she still didn’t answer, he asked her again. “So what was it that you’d like? I do need to order it before it appears.”

“Oh, right,” she stammered, looking away from him and down at her feet for a moment before looking back up at him. “A cobb salad would be great.”

It was his turn to freeze then. Of fucking course Granger would like the same salad that he did, and of course that salad would be his go-to order. That was why they were staring at each other awkwardly for a minute, the moment only breaking when she faced the whiteboard again, stirring him from his paralysed mind. 

Quite a dilemma he found himself faced with. Write two cobb salads and risk whatever wrath he would most certainly face when Granger realized they both had the same meal or get something else that he really didn’t want to eat? 

Fuck it.

The memo flew off as it always did when he worked late, ascending directly to the window in Fortescue’s that was saved for orders from the Ministry. They didn’t speak until their food arrived, the witch delivering it apparating directly outside of the door to the conference room. Draco paid for it ‒ he was a gentleman. At least he asked her what she wanted for food instead of buying her sweets that she didn’t even like for what was supposed to be a romantic occasion.

But this wasn’t a romantic occasion. It was work.

That night, they talked over dinner. First, it was her accusing him of copying her order, at which he had to assure her that he was not copying her order but instead ordering his go-to. It was unbelievably embarrassing. After that conversation dwindled, not prematurely, no matter how badly Draco yearned for that, the pair ended up discussing Granger’s renovation of the Office for House Elf Relocation. Draco learned that she felt as if she wasn’t doing enough before the change, that she needed to completely busy her schedule and reinvent the subdivision so that she could make a difference.

The next time they stayed late after hours, Draco ordered their food once again, that time opting to pull out a bottle of wine from his desk to take the edge off. They had been working for hours and he and Granger had gotten into a bit of a row right after their lunch break. Something about him making a snide comment about her not being able to loosen up and look at the magic as a whole and then her comments about how she can do anything, she can handle anything. Although she apparently couldn’t handle it when he broke out the alcohol. Not like they were working on spells that had never been attempted before or anything. 

“Do you actually keep a bottle of wine in your desk drawers?” she asked, her tone revealing her apparent disgust. Disgust that Draco had no respect for, seeing as they were both adults and technically off work.

“Yes, I do,” he shot back. “I break curses for a living. I have almost died for my occupation more times than I would care to admit. Sometimes a bloke needs a drink to get through the day. Not like you would know anything about that, only working with house elves on the daily.”

“Are you implying that my job is not taxing?”

He scoffed. “I’m implying that you need a fucking drink. Take a breath, Granger.” 

The alcohol warmed them both up considerably so. It only took them two sips each to be able to figure out exactly what was going wrong with their countercurse, but they spent the evening chatting. It was becoming something akin to a shared hobby for the two of them.

That was when Granger revealed that she and Weaselbee had broken up right around the time when she began the renovations on the Office for House Elf Relocation. She needed a new passion project while she adjusted to her new life and her new flat that she shared with Weaslette. She also happened to say that night that he wasn’t as much of an arse as he used to be, a feat that she never thought he would achieve. 

That was also when Draco first admitted to himself that he liked the way her hair bounced when she moved and he hated it when there wasn’t any fire in her eyes. But, he attributed that to the wine. 

The case, which they had started working on in November, took months to solve. Stupid fucking elves and their strange fucking magic. Draco thought that they would stop talking completely as soon as he had a successful run on the estate and successfully broke all of the curses, but she was determined to take part in the final paperwork. Her insistence on continuing their little partnership made it so that the closing of the case coincided almost perfectly with Valentine’s Day.

The thing Draco hated, however, was that he couldn’t just walk away from the case completely as he had in the past. She had engineered the entire thing, her extensive knowledge being the only thing that helped him and those damned elves escape the ancestral home alive. He felt as if he owed her a thank you.

He almost laughed when, while pondering the options for said thank you, the image of those boxes of sweets from back during eighth year resurfaced behind his eyes. That was when he knew he had to get back at the Weaselbee, be better than him at yet another thing. What did McGonagall call it? Longevity’s sake?

He had to trudge all the way up to the fourth floor to get to her office, a much longer walk than it took him to get to his on the second floor or even their conference room on the same level.

The knock at her door was the hardest part, aside from ignoring the strange glances and looks from her coworkers as to why Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, present Curse Breaker was knocking on Hermione Granger, War Heroine, Saviour of the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’ office. 

Her eyes were wide and fireless when she opened the door to see him standing there, a small gold box of dark chocolate truffles in his hands.

“Malfoy! What are you doing here?” Her gaze immediately flew over his shoulders, glancing around at what he could only presume was her coworkers before flitting back to his.

He suddenly felt wrong for showing up. Stupid fucking thank you gift. Stupid fucking project. He should have just let it end when the paperwork was filled out completely. But no, he just had to go and best Weaselbee for another time. 

“It’s‒ Well,” he stammered, “our case is completely closed.” His hand extended out to her almost robotically and he berated himself inside of his thoughts for looking like such an idiot. He was speaking to Hermione Granger, not some random bint in a club. He had to present himself as such. “I just wanted to express my gratitude for not making me an elven mass murderer.”

Her flitting continued, except this time it was between his eyes and the chocolate now presented to her. “Thank you,” she lilted, hesitantly grabbing the box and taking it from his grasp. “I feel awful for not getting you anything.”

He puffed a breath of air through his nose. “You got me out without a prison sentence. That’s more than enough payment, Granger.”

The next day, the Ministry was decked out in heart decorations, the interdepartmental memos all having charmed themselves pink and red. It was ghastly.

However, when Granger joined him on the lift as he ascended to his office, she said something that made his day a little less offensive. “Thank you for the sweets, Malfoy. Dark chocolate is my favourite.”

Dark chocolate was her favourite. 

He fucking hated Valentine’s Day with every inch of his being. It was the vilest thing known to mankind. 

Except for the fact that that year, he learned that she liked dark chocolate. Not milk. Not white. Dark. Just like him.

She said she didn’t get him anything as a thank you, but the knowledge was enough. It was then that he knew for sure that Weaselbee was an absolute idiot. 

They were assigned to another case together only three weeks after Valentine’s Day. And once again, he found himself admiring her curls and her hazels and her work ethic and everything about her. She glowed. Until she bit back at him, just like his favourite dark chocolate truffles, rowing with him over something that was most assuredly imbecilic. He didn’t even need the alcohol.

The alcohol helped though. It most definitely helped, especially considering that he had kissed her while inebriated. The most shocking thing, undoubtedly connected with the alcohol, was the fact that Granger had kissed him back. 

They didn’t talk about it the next day, or the day after that. But two months later, as they finished their paperwork on their joint case together, just as they had for the first case, he did the thing he had been thinking about since she kissed him back, even though his memories had been addled by the alcohol.

“It’s going to be strange not working with you every day again,” she quipped, putting her copies of the paperwork into a filing folder as he stood to do the same.

He managed a small chuckle, the nerves starting to eat away at him. He just had to do it. “That is true.” She chuckled back, a quiet little thing that he could tell brought the cold fire back to his eyes. “Although, Granger, I did just want to confirm something with you.”

She paused, looking at him expectantly, her embers receding ever so slightly. “What would that be?”

“You do like cobb salad, right?” She nodded. “Well, I propose that I buy you a proper version of it, one that you can eat in a restaurant and not in a conference room. Does Fortescue’s on Friday sound alright?”

Her eyes widened the biggest he had possibly ever seen them, but this time, the flames were as bright as the sun. He held his breath, her silence warning him that he had just made another fool of himself. But then she spoke.

“Only if we can order their dark chocolate trifle for dessert. I hear it’s splendid.”

And splendid it was.

It went like that for a long while, dinners after work and shared chocolate desserts until eventually, she started to come over to his flat. It was always his flat, the one that he had to himself and always kept filled to the brim with books. They weren’t for her at first ‒ he loved to read ‒ but she had eventually worked her way through them all, leaving little pieces of paper and notes everywhere. It was always his flat because she shared hers with the Weasley girl and Granger had specifically asked him to not say anything to anyone.

Of course she had. Because what bloke wouldn’t want to flaunt the fact that he had somehow managed to score Hermione fucking Granger. 

It made sense though, especially to him. Why would anyone want to flaunt him? They wouldn’t, if they had a brain, which Granger most definitely did. He was a Death Eater. His only consequence of the war had been having to return to Hogwarts for eighth year, but that didn’t erase the fact that he had contributed to the deaths of how many people, people that he had known. It made sense that Granger wouldn’t want to be seen with him.

So everything happened at his flat. The first time she called him by his given name instead of Malfoy happened in his entryway. When she taught him how to make coffee the muggle way ‒ the way she liked it ‒ it was in his kitchen. The first time they shagged was ‒ you guessed it ‒ on his couch, but only because she had just given a speech so fucking perfect that he couldn’t hold out until they made it to his room. The second time was in his bed.

The first time he cried to her was ‒ in his flat ‒ in the early hours of the morning, her arms wrapped around him as they laid there in their little cocoon of blankets after a night well spent. She had placed her palm over his mark and told him it was okay, that she knew then that he was a much better person and had rectified his mistakes. 

“Draco, I forgive you.”

He didn’t forgive himself ‒ he never would ‒ but he allowed her to hold him and share with him those sweet sentiments that revealed just how deep into their endeavour the two of them were.

The next morning, he made her cup of coffee just as she had taught him while she dressed for the day. Leave it to Hermione Granger to always have to be at work early. She placed a chaste kiss on his lips when she reappeared, taking the cup of caffeine from him with a warm smile. 

“I can probably be here again tonight,” she hummed, her free hand resting softly on his chest as he took her in, her wide eyes revealing that she was worried to leave him alone. “I think Ginny is starting to catch onto things, but it’s worth the risk.”

“I do have to say that I don’t know how I’ll cope when you’re not in my bed, Granger,” he teased with a soft smirk. “You keep it very warm.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as she always did whenever he teased like the bastard he was, but the telltale blush on the tops of her cheeks showed him just how much she loved it. She always loved it. “Well we wouldn’t want you to be cold, now would we?” she teased right back, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards in the same manner that his did, a trait that he had realized she had developed ever since they started seeing each other. 

When Draco arrived at his desk that morning, prepared for a stack of paperwork as tall as Big Ben, he was surprised to see a gold box tied with a green bow. He looked around his office, afraid that it was some sort of trick on behalf of one of his coworkers, but he was met with nobody. Nothing.

Nothing except that box.

After he had set up a series of complicated protective spells to ensure that the package wasn’t sent from some depraved son of a bitch who wanted to yet again remind him of how horrible a person he and his family was, he opened it.

Inside was a collection of dark chocolate truffles. 

They told her friends about their relationship ‒ yes it was defined ‒ the day before their first official Valentine’s Day together. They spent that night in his room‒ not on his couch. 

A year after they had been together, when they went to see his parents for the first time as a couple and it hadn’t ended well ‒ Granger having fallen into a tizzy over the fact that she couldn’t make them like her, not with her wits or her charm or her brains, Draco pulled out the dark chocolate truffles. 

“They’re the ones who have to change, Hermione. It’s not your fault. It’s never your fault,” he whispered into her soft curls as she sobbed into his chest. It was the first time he had called her by her given name. 

He saved her given name, just like the truffles, for the special occasions.

His mother visited his flat ‒ now Granger’s flat too ‒ while they were in the middle of snacking on another box after a particularly rough day at work. Granger’s legislation hadn’t passed through her department correctly and it took its toll on her. So when he opened the door to reveal his mother, he attempted to send her away.

But Granger insisted, as she always did, that she stay and have dinner with them. They dined that evening on cobb salads and dark chocolate truffles. 

The truffles made another appearance at their wedding. 

And again at Hermione’s baby shower. Although, Draco was more than worried about her consumption level of the treat. Every night, without fail, there she was in their bed, munching away on another box of truffles. He practically had Honeyduke’s waiting on his every whim, even though he was afraid that his child would be born with an addiction that rivalled their mother’s. 

And at every anniversary and Valentine’s Day in between. 

The holiday wasn’t so asinine when he got to profess his love for her over and over and over again. If anything, it provided him with a boost of confidence, seeing as he had never once purchased her liquorice or white chocolate sweets. It was always dark chocolate truffles because that was what Hermione Granger preferred. What she preferred, she received.

When Lyra ‒ his daughter ‒ turned four, she spent her Valentine’s Day with her parents on the couch, watching a sappy romantic move that her mother had picked out as they dined on the gummies shaped like Cornish Pixies ‒ for his daughter ‒ and dark chocolate truffles ‒ for his wife. She was laying in his lap, a favourite spot of hers, while Granger rested her head on his shoulder. They may have been married, her last name technically having had become Granger-Malfoy, but she was always Granger to him. 

“Mummy?” she asked, her voice so quiet that Draco could barely hear it. “Can I have one of your sweets?”

Draco almost threw her off of him for even daring to request one of his and Granger’s sweets. The only thing stopping him was that Granger obliged her, handing his daughter one of his prized possessions as she snuggled further into him.

Her warmth and presence, the way that she was so taken with him as her father, made it less awful that she had stolen one of his sweets.

Lyra hummed in satisfaction once the chocolate disappeared behind her lips, her wide hazel eyes looking up at her mother as her curly blonde hair manoeuvred itself up his nose. That, he didn’t mind. 

“Can I have more, Mummy?”

That year, he learned that his daughter liked dark chocolate. Not milk. Not white. Dark. Just like them. 

He concluded that Valentine’s Day wasn’t as awful as he had once thought it to be, that was, as long as he had his witches and their chocolate. Not milk. Not white. Dark. 

Thank fucking Merlin he wasn’t as dumb as Weaselbee.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> Come say hi on twitter @emlohamora :)


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